


(Working Title) Ingrid and Eli

by TheLastSparrow



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Codependency, Drug Use, Drugs, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Hate to Love, Inspired by Music, Love, Love Confessions, Love/Hate, Major Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Music, Musicians, Not Happy, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, Other, Pain, Partner Betrayal, True Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 17:00:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4969036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastSparrow/pseuds/TheLastSparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ingrid is a cocktail waitress, a terrible cocktail waitress. She is a down on her luck musician, that became broke on her trek across the country. Now she is working a broken stars bar, going no where in life.</p>
<p>Eli is a young man aspiring to be a rock star, but his vices have taken over his life and gotten him into trouble. Booted from his band and evicted from his place. He ended up on a bar stool at the end of a horrible night. </p>
<p>Their stories converge on a night of booze, soul searching, and classic rock.  Then life takes hold, pain, heartbreak and hatred ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Working Title) Ingrid and Eli

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my newest pieces. It is completely original and I am hoping it makes itself into something awesome. I am so incredibly proud of the beginning of this piece. It is Currently under extreme maintenance and still even needs a name. And I do hope that if you read it. To give some feedback. I want this piece to be perfect

The tray weighed down heavy on her arm as she moved through the crowd. The music from the dime a dozen Deejay was blaring like police sirens. She had always hated this kind of music, but working where she did it was a requirement of the job. Being a waitress was horrible, being a horrible waitress was worse. It was a terrible job. Alas it was all that was in her inexperienced skill range.

Her story was the most stereotypical one. A girl from the midwest traveling to discover herself. Well she had discovered herself, by running out of money in Los Angeles. And this job was all she could get. The owner's reasoning was because she was okay looking. And fit the uniform of the former girl. And now here she was serving drinks to drunk failed actors, models, and musicians. All spewing the word vomit they called their big break stories. All she did was roll her eyes and hand them more elixir of forgetting. Three years is a long time to listen to the booze soaked hardships of others.

She had heard so many stories and tales from the mouths of the desperate and defeated. Tonight was no different. In the beginning, she would stick around and listen to them spew their souls about once having dreams. Once having talent. Once being stars. The sadness in hollow voices and sunken eyes. Wanting to grasp that limelight and be heard just one more time. These stories, these sad unsung words, she could no longer listen. Her ears tuned them out and her mind let them slip away. She could no longer hear the broken dreams of others, when her own had been shattered as well. She had her own stories. Ones that she couldn't drown with a shot of jack with a tall boy chaser. Ones she couldn't silence with loud, blaring EDM tracks and the heartbeat of a different stranger every night.

Her broken dreams lead her to this bar, on that night, with her last eight bucks. The last eight bucks she had in the entire world. The last eight bucks she pulled out of her pocket in a crumpled wad, that the bartender told her to keep, her drink was on him. She used that last eight bucks to tip him that night. He fell for her sad smile. And that sad smile (and her almost spot on measurements) landed her here. Carrying trays and busing tables. Making drinks and hearing sad, sad stories. And every night putting up with worse and worse music. If she heard one more base drop, she was going to jam a cocktail umbrella into her ear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her night progressed as per usual. Around midnight it started to slow. Most everyone staggered out, the stragglers were usually the usual barflies. Staying until last call, then dragging themselves out into the cold morning air. And she had the chance to relax. She slid behind the bar and slouched forward over it. Her face in her hands, her elbows propped up on the hard ebony wood on the bar top. She let out a long, soft sigh. Decker, the bartender, came up and set a hand on her shoulder. “You did good tonight, little sis.” He gently pulled her to him placing a kiss on the crown of her head. She smiled her sad smile. “Thanks, Big brother.” He smiled and patted her on the back.  
“Watch the front for me. I need to nip to the back for a bit.”

She nodded gently and entangled her fingers, stretching her hands high above her head. She let out an exhausted groan as she did, closing her eyes. She heard a distinct throat clear from in front of her. She opened her eyes and looked at the man sitting before her. His leather jacket was scuffed and marred from years of use. The t-shirt below that looked even more worse for wear. In her line of work your first impression of how someone was going to act had to come from the first once over of their outward mannerisms and appearance. He had soft eyes, dark, like the night sky void of stars. They emphasized his unnaturally long, dark, chocolate brown hair, that was threatening to destroy the thin elastic holding it all back in a loose disheveled ponytail.

“What can I get you, honey?” She asked nicely, giving her best but forced smile. He looked at her and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you give a guy down on his luck, something to give him a smile for the night?” On the outside she smiled, on the inside she groaned. Another dark tequila story, with a lime chaser moral. She smiled and poured him the usual depression tonic. She set the glass before him. He had large hands. They engulfed the glass when he reached out for it. He looked at her and nodded. “Thank you, miss.” He said in his low baritone voice. You could hear the dark mood dripping in every note. The normal vagabonds that rolled through this bar were usually past their prime musicians and vintage actresses. This man was young and looked like he had the rest of his days to become one of these barflies. He sparked a flame of interest in her, that her mind wanted ignited. She smiled. “Don't worry about it, hon.” She wiped her hands off on the bar rag and put the bottles away. She hummed to herself softly.

As last call rolled around the main lights turned on. The only one left in the bar was him. She wiped the bar down. She watched him. He sat there still nursing the same glass she had handed him the hour before. She walked up and leaned, propping her elbows up on the bar. “Hey hon, I gotta close up soon.” He looked up at her. She hadn't noticed before but he had a black eye and a small cut on his forehead. “Is it okay if I just hang out a little bit longer? I promise I'll be out of your hair before long.” Any other time she would have told him no and had security bounce him right onto the street. There was something about him that made her think she needed to let him. She gave him a sad soft smile and nodded. “Go ahead, darling. Hang out as long as you need.” She patted his arm gently.

She came around the bar and walked up to the old fashioned jukebox off to the right of the stage. She reached behind it and plugged it in. The lights flickered alive and she smiled. Some of the neon was burnt out. She flipped through the music lists. She hummed to herself softly. She poked in a few buttons and soft rock started to play. She moved softly to the music. She stepped away from the jukebox and started flipping chairs onto table tops. She kept looking over at the stranger at the bar. From the back his jacket had a large patch of a metal moth on a chaotic cross.

It intrigued her. It drew her eyes as she tried to work. She found herself staring as she moved the chairs. Her hand fumbled and she dropped one of the chairs. It clattered loudly against the black stone floor. She cursed to herself. He turned around and looked at her. She froze embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you.” She said softly. He looked at her and shrugged and shook his head. “It's okay, love. Quiet is not what I am looking for right now.” He climbed out off his stool and headed over to the jukebox. She watched him rifling through the music and punch in a few buttons. A slow, somber dark metal song started to play. He looked over at her and sang along with it. He had a voice that matched the song. She gave him a small smile. Her eyes widened as he walked up to her. He took her hands and gave her a dance style quick spin. She chuckled and rolled her eyes. He looked at her. “No one has shown me sympathy tonight.” He said softly. She looked at him as he offered his hand to dance with her. “When you are in my line of work, you learn how to cater to the lost and broken. And you seemed the most broken. “ He chuckled as she apprehensively took his hand. He put his hand on the small of her back and left a respectful space between them. He held her hand up in proper dance formation. “Well I am a pretty, shattered mirror. And as I say. You can fix a mirror but there will always be cracks in the reflection.”

She looked up at him. He towered over her. He had to have been at least six foot two, over her five foot four inch frame. He lead her in a four count simple box step. 'Even a broken mirror will allow you to see yourself.” She explained in a low voice. “Yes, but the image will forever be warped and skewed. A broken mirror lets you see yourself for what you truly are. Imperfect and flawed. “ His words were like that of a bohemian poet. Pouring out like sweet wine and with a subtle bitter after-taste. She could feel them like soft whispers to her ears, but razors on her tongue. He smiled softly as he tilted her back into a soft dip. “My name is Eli.” His voice was like rushing water, beautiful but powerful. Those eyes enthralled her. They even seemed larger and more beckoning, because of the slightest hint of restless circles around them. “Ingrid.” She squeaked out trying to catch her bearing. “A lot of the people around here call me, Little Sis.” He smiled and brought her back up to standing. “I like Ingrid. So that is what I will call you.” He pulled away from her and gave a respectful bow. “And thank you, Ingrid. For the dance. I knew you could give me something to smile about this evening. “ She gave him a soft smile and stepped back to finish putting chairs up. He watched her and turned helping her with the task. “So have you worked here long?” He asked. His voice sounded a bit less serious. It almost took on a boyish charm. She flipped a chair and thought about it. “Three years. Not to long I guess.” She furrowed her brow thinking about the answer. Three years. It had been three years since her life and dreams got pushed to the back burners. Three years since she had to sell her things to afford first month's rent. Her violin and her recording equipment. The only thing she had left was the shirt on her back and her old beater car, that sounded like a spoon caught in a disposal, when she drove it anywhere.

Maybe that was why she harbored ill-will against the patrons of this establishment. They got to live their dreams and see their moment in the sun. And here she was a pathetic cocktail waitress, in a backdoor, hole in the wall dive of a bar. That never even got to catch a glimpse of the sun. She didn't even get to have the chance to see a stage, here in Los Angeles, Let alone play on one. And maybe that's why Eli, intrigued her so. He was young like her. He wreaked of lost dreams and broken hearts. He saw the sun. Reached out for it, but was ripped away just as he had grabbed for that first beam.


End file.
